That thou among the wastes of time must go,Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsakeAnd die as fast as they see others grow;And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defenceSave breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.” ― William Shakespeare, Shakespeare's Sonnets

“Time in itself, absolutely, does not exist; it is always relative to some observer or some object. Without a clock I say 'I do not know the time' . Without matter time itself is unknowable. Time is a function of matter; and matter therefore is the clock that makes infinity real.” ― John Fowles, Áristos

“She knows her timing, always knows. The time to strike or the time to starve. Her eyes as a clock, she watches she waits she learns, and in the second she blinks, she changes her mind just like that.” ― Anthony Liccione

“In the silence of the ticking of the clock’s minute hand, I found you. In the echoes of the reverberations of time, I found you. In the tender silence of the long summer night, I found you.Avijeet Das

It is our inward journey that leads us through time - forward or back, seldom in a straight line, most often spiraling. Each of us is moving, changing, with respect to others. As we discover, we remember; remembering, we discover; and most intensely do we experience this when our separate journeys converge. Our living experience at those meeting points is one of the charged dramatic fields of fiction.” ― Eudora Welty, On Writing

In short, the clocks were always at variance. They seemed to be running after each other, calling out, getting lost, looking for each other at all the changing crossroads of time.” ― Georges Rodenbach, The Bells of Bruges

“Tick. Tick. Tick. This is the sound of your life running out.” ― Anonymous

There were no hours. It was not the river of time flowing that moved the clock's hands forward; their mechanism moved them. Seeing them move men said, Time is passing, passing, but they were fooled by the clocks they made. It is we who pass through time, Hugh thought.” ― Ursula K. Le Guin, The Beginning Place

we calibrate time as per our own convenience. The dates on the calendar do not matter by themselves, nor do the numbers on the clock. Only this moment counts, this moment alone, and that is because of the awareness that we bring to it.”― Indu Muralidharan, The Reengineers

“But what is this clock, marking only so many years, that such men seem to consult in the dark of their being? We do not know. All we do know for certain is that no such clock, no such warnings, can come out of the passing time that we are told is all we have. They belong to a larger idea of Time, like all these dreams that came true.” ― J.B. Priestley, Man and Time

“It had a very long pendulum, and the pendulum swung with a slow tick-tock that set his teeth on edge, because it was the kind of deliberate annoying ticking that wanted to make it abundantly clear that every tick and every tock was stripping another second off your life. It was the kind of sound that suggested very pointedly that in some hypothetical hourglass somewhere, another few grains of sand had dropped out form under you.” ― Terry Pratchett, The Light Fantastic

“A glance toward her digital clock showed the numbers twitching and randomly changing on their own, as though her clock couldn’t make up its mind on what time it wanted to be.” ― Kelly Creagh, Nevermore

And the first chapter of what may or may not be called, Canterbury Clock

Gustav, stooped with age, hunkered down on his stool in front of
his workbench, oblivious to the sounds of death and destruction falling around
him. The comforting sounds of a hundred tick-tocking clocks provided a blanket
to muffle the bomb’s whistling screams and corresponding rocketing explosions.

His gnarled fingers quivered as a blast shook his shop and
decimated another close by, but that was more from age than fright. He had
lived a long life—much longer than he, or anyone else, had expected. He glanced
out the window at the nearby flickering flames. The sudden rise in temperature
caused beads of sweats to form on his brow. He removed his glasses, patted his
forehead, and resumed his work.

A barking dog loped past his window. A woman clutching a basket
followed. Footsteps padded down the steps that led to his shop and banging rattled
his door.

“Gustav!” A young man’s voice called. “Come, we must go!” The door
reverberated as the pounding grew more and more incessant.

With a sigh, Gustav, put down his tools and unfolded his long
limbs, stiff from sitting in a prolonged position. He didn’t answer the door to
save his own life, but out of concern for his neighbor, Wilbur—a young man with
a wife and children who, thank God, had already left for the safe countryside.
Wilbur had a reason to live, while Gustav did not. He didn’t feel the need to
explain to Wilbur that running away was a young man’s game.

“I will stay here with my clocks,” Gustav told him. “They know
when my time will come. But you must go. Do not worry about me.”

Wilbur tried to argue with him, but to prove his point, Gustav
firmly closed his door and turned the lock. Settling down at his workbench, he
picked up the tiny gears of his current project, a clock that would be the
wedding gift for his grandson. The rosewood case matched the color of his own
Gretel’s hair, the ivory face the color of her porcelain skin. As he worked, he
hummed the song played at his own wedding by his uncle’s fiddling band.

Each clock was a labor of love for Gustav, but this one was
special, because, he suspected, it would be his last. This thought didn’t bring
him fear, but rather warmed him with the knowledge that this clock would
continue to tick-tock long after his own heart stopped beating. Clocks, he
knew, are like love, they continue when everything else fails.

Modern Day

Los Angeles International Airport

Darby stood in the line snaking its way toward the crowded
Starbuck’s counter. She shivered, but this had more to do with nerves and
anticipation than the over-zealous air-conditioning or her lack of caffeine.
She glanced at the board announcing the arriving flights and consulted her
watch.

Benjamin’s plane had been delayed. Again. She tried to wrap her
head around this, but failed. After all, it was August, not the dead of winter
where one might expect turbulent weather…But of course, he was flying from
London. When she had flown from London to L.A., her flight path had gone over
the North Pole—and rotten weather was sure to be happening there, so…she needed
to be patient. But she had already been patient. She hadn’t seen Benjamin in
three whole months—other than on Facetime, or social media, of course.

Not that she had known him for much longer.

A sudden splash of burning hot wetness on her silk blouse pulled
Darby’s thoughts away from Benjamin. “Ow!” she pulled her blouse away from her
chest and stared at the brown stain spreading like cancer.

“Oh! I’m sorry!” A man with large hands grabbed a handful of
napkins from the dispenser on a nearby table and tried to pat her chest.

She flinched away from him and noticed for the first time his
face. Aside from his embarrassed and apologetic expression, he was incredibly
gorgeous like a young Paul Newman—blond, blue-eyed, and rugged and weathered as
if he spent a good deal of time outside. He was almost as good looking, but in
a completely different way, as Benjamin. But of course, Benjamin was a model
and an actor who made a living with his beauty. This man was a silky blouse
staining moron.

“It’s okay,” Darby said even though it obviously wasn’t because
the coffee was burning hot, her blouse was probably going to be ruined, and,
worse of all, she’d now have to welcome Benjamin to L.A. with a giant brown
spot on her shirt. She moved away from his clumsy hands and wads of napkins.

“Oh no, I can tell your upset.” He shook the coffee off his own
hands, making her realize he’d burned himself as well. “Let me pay for your
dry-cleaning, at least.”

“No, don’t be silly,” she said, edging away from him, which wasn’t
easy to do because of the crowd around them. Most people were ignoring them,
but a few watched with open curiosity, waiting to see her response. Darby
gulped back her frustration, mostly because she didn’t want to make a scene,
but also because the man was cute and remorseful—a little like a puppy who
knows his paws are too big.

“How about I buy you lunch?” he said.

Darby glanced at the board, noting that Benjamin’s flight was
delayed another hour. “Okay,” she agreed, tempted by a free lunch…and his
handsome face.

The man’s smile totally transformed him. He was actually much
better looking than she’d originally thought. Maybe even a close match to
Benjamin. Not that looks mattered. She didn’t love Benjamin for his (stunning)
appearance. Looks had nothing to do with their almost instant and incurable
attraction.

“I’m waiting for my boyfriend’s delayed flight,” Darby told
the blouse-destroying stranger, just so he would know he didn’t stand a chance
with her, that there wasn’t anything romantic in their getting to know each
other, and that her heart was pledged elsewhere to another, much less, clumsy
man. This was just a free lunch.

He looked at his watch, an intricate timepiece on a leather band.
He had strong, thick wrists and covered with blond nearly transparent hair.
Darby shivered again. She hated when men had dark gorilla fuzz, and she tried
to recall Benjamin’s arms, but couldn’t. This bothered her.

“My sister’s flight is also late,” the man was saying as he guided
her into a nearby restaurant, separated from the airport’s concourse by a water
fountain running down a glass wall and spilling into a black marble ledge. The
water garbled happily, it’s sound masking the airport’s bustle. The scent of
barbequing steak wafted through the restaurant.

“Weird, right? I mean, it’s August and sunny and warm.” Darby
glanced around at the linen-clad tables and glass and chrome decor. It was hard
to believe that just a watery partition separated the restaurant from the noise
and chaos of the rest of the airport.

“Not all delays are weather-related,” he said. “I’m Chad George,
by the way,” he said, sticking out his hand.

“Darby Elliot,” she replied, liking his strong grip.

A waitress name Kayla led them to a table overlooking the tarmac.
They passed a window to the open kitchen where men and women in white coats and
tall ballooned hats grilled a variety of meat over open flames. The smell made
Darby’s mouth water. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until that moment.

“What do you do, Darby Elliot, when you’re not waiting for
boyfriends in the airport?” Chad asked as soon as they were seated.

“I’m an accountant,” she said, unfolding the linen napkin and
placing it on her lap.

He leaned back. “Really?”

“Why do you look so surprised?” Darby fussed with her napkin,
slightly miffed because his response was typical. Most people had the exact
same reaction when she said she was an accountant, and it bothered her that no
one seemed to take her seriously. Being the youngest in a family of seven kids
didn’t help. But she was used to her family’s dismissal and had grown to expect
it. She didn’t like it from strangers.

“You just don’t look like an accountant.”

Darby sat a little straighter, trying to add inches to her
five-foot-three frame. “And what do you think accountants should look like?”

“Well, for one thing, they don’t wear strappy red sandals and New
Occult jeans.”

“Maybe not to work.”

“Although they might wear silk blouses. Just not with big brown
stains on them.”

Darby didn’t mean to scowl, but she couldn’t help it. She picked
up a menu to hide her expression. “I’m actually freaky good with numbers.”

He lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “Really?”

She lowered the menu. “Yeah. Go ahead, test me.”

“Okay, what’s three-thousand and forty-nine divided by
sixty-three?”

“Forty-eight, about.”

He typed the math problem onto the calculator app on his phone.
“You’re right. Amazing.”

She shrugged and went back to studying the menu. After a moment,
she settled on a shrimp salad. “What do you do?”

“I’m a teacher at a small private school.”

This surprised and concerned her because teacher’s salaries
usually didn’t stretch to cover fancy airport restaurants. “That’s noble,” she
said. “It must be really rewarding.” Just not financially. She quickly changed
her mind about the shrimp salad and selected a cup of soup.

“Sometimes,” he said with a smirk.

Kayla the waitress returned to take their orders, and Chad
surprised her by getting the steak. Her gaze wandered to the chefs in the
kitchen and she wondered if the steak would taste as good as it smelled.

“Are you sure you just want soup?” he asked.

She nodded, even though she wasn’t quite so sure anymore. After
all, the sun glinting off the airplanes told her that it had to be warm outside
away from the air conditioning. The thermostat had been pushing toward eighty
when she’d been in her car and that was before it was even noon.

“I love tomato soup,” she said. “I practically lived on it when I
was in London.” Where it had been cold and dreary most of the year.

“You lived in London?”

She nodded. “That’s where I met Benjamin—my boyfriend, the one I’m
waiting for.” Just saying Benjamin and boyfriend in the same sentence sent a
happy tingle down her spine. She recalled his face to remind herself of how
much she loved him and how perfect he was for her and how romantic their first
meeting had been—much more romantic than some doofus spilling his coffee on her
and ruining her favorite blouse. “You know, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to
see if I can salvage my shirt.”

“Sure,” he said, looking disappointed, but not surprised.

She found the restroom near the bar and once inside, she peeled
off her shirt, doused with water and squeezed some hand soap onto it. While
scrubbing, her thoughts bounced between Chad and Benjamin. She found herself
comparing them, and even thought this made her uncomfortable, she couldn’t stop
herself from doing it. Chad, a teacher, according to her parents, had the
noblest of vocations. Benjamin, an actor and model, again, according to her
parents, probably had the least admirable vocation. It also bothered her that
she continually measured things and people with her parents’ yardstick, but
that was normal, wasn’t it? She hadn’t intentionally patterned herself after
her parents, but even at twenty-nine, she still sought their approval.

Except when it came to Benjamin. She loved him in spite of her
family’s warnings. After a final rinse and a couple of blasts from the
hand-dryer, Darby put her shirt back on. The damp fabric clung to her skin and
bra and she wondered if she’d just made the situation worse. She left the
restroom with her feelings toward Chad almost as chilly as the wet blouse. It
didn’t help that he smirked when he took one look at her blouse.

She sat across from him and launched into her
How-Darby-and-Benjamin-Met story. “Benjamin literally fell into my life!”

Chad leaned back as Kayla returned with their food and placed a
thick slice of steak with a side of a baked potato oozing with butter and a
serving of steamed vegetables in front of Chad and a cup of steaming hot tomato
and basil soup in front of Darby.

Darby opened a bag of crackers and crumbled them into her soup.
“We met the day before I left London. Sad, right?”

Chad looked as if he didn’t know how to respond. After a moment,
he came up with, “What were you doing in London?”

“I’m a CPA for Hopper and Rhode Accounting, and one of our clients
was having issues. I thought at first it was a huge honor for them to send me,
but then I realized that no one else wanted to go.”

“How come?”

Darby frowned. She really wasn’t supposed to talk about her
clients, especially if she didn’t have anything good to say. “Let’s just say
that my client likes to smoke cigars.” She lifted a spoonful of soup to her
lips. Yep, it was hot. After a moment, she added. “She had other vices, as
well.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “She?”

“Yep.” She paused her spoon. “Are you telling me you’re one of
those sexist people who think women can’t enjoy cigars?”

“Can anyone really enjoy cigars?”

After taking another sip of her soup, she put down her spoon and
smiled. “Nope. I don’t know why anyone smokes them, unless, of course, they’re
just intentionally trying to be annoying. Although, in general, it’s really a
bad idea to try and annoy your accountant. After all, a good accountant is
trying to save you money and often—as in this woman’s case—her business.”

“What was her business?” he said with a smile he probably
considered charming.

“I can’t talk about my clients. Sorry.”

Chad pulled out his phone and tapped out something. Darby tried
not to be curious. After a second, he leaned back in his chair and gave her a
pleased grin and showed her his phone’s screen. “Your client, Amanda Ward, an
American living in London, president of Finders, Sneakers, a U.S. based
company—”

“I know who she is,” Darby said. “How did you do that?”

“It was pretty easy, really.” He pocketed his phone. “I knew that
she had to be the head of a U.S. company—otherwise, why hire a U.S. accountant?
But she was living in London…although, I think the cigar smoking pretty much nailed
her.”

“It probably will nail
her—into her coffin.” Darby’s hand flew to her mouth. “I should not have said
that. You won’t tell my boss, will you?”

Chad smiled and cut into his steak. It let out a waft of heavenly
scent. “So, since you can’t talk about your mysterious cigar smoking-client,
tell me about the boyfriend that fell on you.”

Darby set down her spoon. “He was at a party right above my hotel
room and there was a fire. Of course, I didn’t know that since I was asleep in
my bed. Anyway, to escape the fire, he jumped down onto my balcony saw me
sleeping in my bed and woke me.”

The memory of the first time she’d seen Benjamin’s gorgeous and
concerned face flashed in her mind. “He picked me up and carried me outside.”
She didn’t add that they had spent the rest of the night making out on the
hotel lawn and that she’d only been wearing a silk teddy. Remembering the cold
wet grass pressing against her naked legs, Darby took another spoonful of soup.
“It was very romantic.”

“But then you left London?”

She nodded.

“So, you really don’t know him all that well.”

Darby bristled because this was exactly what her mom, sisters,
brothers, and friends had been saying. “We’ve skyped every day. In some ways,
this a better way to get to know each other because we couldn’t get carried
away with snogging. That’s the British word for—”

“I know all about snogging,” he said with a smile.

Yes, from the looks of him, he probably did.

“I know it’s absolutely none of my business,” Chad said as he
buttered his potato, “but when you only know each other via social media, it’s
really easy to just show your good bits.”

Wow. He really did sound like her mom. “You’re right.” She
swallowed another spoonful of soup. “It’s none of your business. But sometimes,
when you meet the right person, you know.”

“You just know, huh?”

She nodded. “That’s how it was for me and Benjamin. He fell into
my life at the right time. It was meant to be.”

“Hmm…I wonder if the hotel owner felt the same way.”

“What? Why would they care?”

“It was their hotel on fire, right? I just wonder if they had such
a fatalistic attitude.” He grinned and took a bite of his steak.

“Do you believe in fate or Kismet?”

“There are people who believe that there’s no such thing as
coincidences. I’m not sure if I’m one of those people.”

“What sort of people are you?” Darby asked.

“I believe that relationships take work and commitment. Just
because someone fell into your life doesn’t mean that they’re bound to stay
there. They have to want to stay there, and you need to make it an enjoyable
place to be.”

Darby thought about her parents and their noisy and chaotic home.
“In my house, sometimes it seems as if love is more about taking out the trash,
mucking out the garbage disposal, or being the one to change the poopy diaper.
But I don’t think it has to be that way. There should be room for romance,
too.”

“Are you from a large family?”

“Yes, I’m the youngest of seven.”

Chad whistled. “But if you’re the youngest, your parents can’t
still be changing diapers. At least, I hope not. Sorry if that’s too personal a
question.”

“I’m not wearing Depends, if that’s what you’re asking. My sister
and her three children live with us.”

“You live at home?”

Darby nodded.

“Your parents must have a full house.”

“You have no idea.” She didn’t feel like she needed to tell him
that she shared that house with her parents, her brother Tom, her sister, Meg,
her two nephews Tristan and Luke and niece Jolene, her other sister, Henley,
her Grandma Betty, and the dog, Wheezer.

“So, there’s not a lot of romance…”

“There’s a lot of love, but sometimes…” Darby grappled to find the
right words. How could she explain her family to this stranger? “It can be
chaotic, too. Not a lot of bathrooms and too many people—and creatures—in too
tight of space. Romance gets lost in the piles of laundry or the overflowing
toilet.”

“Not at all. Being in love is something that happens to us, it’s a
way of being. It’s a choice, or rather a series of choices. It’s choosing to
put someone else’s needs over own over and over again.”

“Which brings us back to the clog garbage disposal and the poopy
diapers.”

Chad pointed his fork at her and smiled. “Exactly.”

“Life doesn’t have to be so real,”
Darby argued. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting more romance, flowers, and
wine and less chaos and noise.”

“No, but I bet the chaos and noise keep things interesting.”

“Interesting is a good word for my family.”

“I’d like to meet your family,” he said again.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” Darby didn’t want to be
annoyed by this handsome stranger, but the fact that words echoed pretty much
everything her family had been saying about Benjamin, romance, and real life,
rankled.

“I’m waiting for my sister,” Chad said after a moment to fill the
awkward silence. “She’s coming into town to help celebrate my grandfather’s
eightieth birthday.”

While Chad went on and on about his family, barely even noticing
her prolonged silence, Darby ate her soup as quickly as she could without
slurping and occupied her thoughts with memories mingled with fantasies about
Benjamin.

Where he would stay had been a trick since she couldn’t very well
bring him home. Not only was she from a long line of staunch Catholics, she was
also from a large family…who happened to live in a not so large house.

Benjamin, of course, had understood and made arrangements with
some friends who lived in L.A. Still, it made snogging difficult.

“Are your grandparents still alive?” Chad interrupted her
thoughts.

“Yes,” she said, thinking of Grandma Betty. She did not want to
talk about Grandma Betty. Darby shoveled in the last drop of soup and put down
her spoon. “It’s been really nice meeting you and thanks for the lunch, but I
have to go.” She gathered up her purse, said goodbye, and left.

#

Chad watched Darby walk away. His guilt pricked him about the
blouse. He finished off his meal, and while he waited for the check, he looked
up the cost of shirts online and debated on whether or not he should send her
one. But, of course, he didn’t know her address, although he did know where she
worked. Would that be too stalker-ish? How would her boss feel about her
receiving personal packages at work? What size did she wear? All these
questions kept him company as he wandered back to the baggage claim area where
he’d arranged to meet Cecelia.

He spotted Darby across the room. She had her back to him, but he
knew it was her because of her high ponytail and dark curls—a very
non-accountant sort of hairstyle. She sat on a chair, her legs crossed. A book
dangled from her hand.

He wondered what she was reading, considered going over and
asking, but quickly changed his mind when he heard, “Chadwick!”

He spun around and opened his arms to Cecelia. Lean, with shimmery
dark blonde hair and a smattering of freckles across her cheeks, she still
looked like his baby sister, only taller. She launched herself at him, and he
caught her. “Hey!” he smiled down into her beaming eyes. “I’m so glad to see
you!”

She pulled away from him to peer into his face. Looking into her
green eyes was almost like looking into his own.

“How are you?” she asked.

“I’m good,” he conceded, “but school starts soon, so that will
change.”

She slugged his arm. “You know you love it.”

“I do,” he admitted, although being a teacher hadn’t been his
first choice, in the last few years it had become his only choice.

“How are the parentals? Are they still giving Grandpa a hard
time?”

He nodded slightly. “It’ll be good to have you here to take off
some of the heat.”

A small frown touched Cecelia’s lips.

“Just kidding,” Chad said as instant guilt swamped him. He wanted
his sister home and not for the reason he just gave. He had missed her while
she’d been in Paris.

He took in the tired lines around her eyes and the rumpled hair.
Like him, she shared their mother’s coloring and height. He also noticed her
blouse. It looked a lot like the one Darby had been wearing—minus the coffee
stain, of course. “Huh, Cecelia, strange request.”

She lifted her eyebrows, waiting.

“Can I buy that blouse off you?”

Confusion flitted across her face. “What? Seriously?”

He nodded. “I spilled coffee on this woman, and I want to make it
up to her.”

“Of course, I do.” She looped her arm around Chad’s. “But if we
both like Jessica so much, why are we giving this stranger my blouse?”

“I just…I probably not only spilled coffee on her, but I also
probably offended her.”

“Oh! Tell me!”

Beside them, the luggage carousel began to whirr, announcing the
arrival of the bags.

Chad repeated Darby and Benjamin’s story while they waited for
Cecelia’s luggage to arrive. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I mean, I barely
know her. Why should I care if she’s being scammed by this guy?”

“What makes you think she’s being scammed? If you like her enough
to give her my blouse, he probably likes her, too.”

He thought about this. Darby hadn’t actually said that she had
bought Benjamin’s ticket to L.A., so what had made him think that she had? In
his mind, he raked through their brief conversation trying to put his finger on
what had raised his hackles…Raised his hackles—that was something
Grandpa Bern would say. Still, his hackles were quivering and maybe if he gave
Darby a blouse he’d feel better…and maybe he could forget her as she obviously
wanted him to.

“Let’s not give her this blouse, because, you know, I’ve been
wearing it for the last ten hours,” Cecelia said. “If you really like her, you
can pick a clean one from my suitcase.”

Chad brightened, and he cast Darby another glance. She stood on
the opposite side of the room in a shaft of sun pouring through a sky-light.
She seemed illuminated—a bright spot in an otherwise lit by Florescent lighting
monochromatic world.

Cecelia followed his gaze. “Is that her?”

He nodded.

“She’s smaller than me,” Cecelia said.

“That’s okay, right?” Chad asked, wondering why he cared so much.
“It’s better for the shirt to be too big rather than too small.”